


Strumming My Pain With His Fingers

by ThePlotMurderer



Category: The Young and the Restless
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Newman family moments, Smoking, We call that Gayngst in the business, gay angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlotMurderer/pseuds/ThePlotMurderer
Summary: Reed misses his father, he misses his sister...and he misses home most of all, even when he's right there in the middle of it.Set in the same continuity as 'Sweet Nothings'. Four short snippets about Reed's life, beginning about a week after J.T's murder, and flashing back to various moments in his earlier life.





	Strumming My Pain With His Fingers

Some days you just really needed a cigarette.

Reed had been trying to cut back, really, he had. He was _home_ now. And home meant rules. Order. You couldn't just light one up in Chancellor Park. For one thing, it would be like taking a shit in the Vatican, and for another, his Grandpa probably had cameras in the bushes to catch his grandchildren doing devilry in the daylight.

But it had been...weeks. Months, even. And it was getting harder, harder to ignore the itch, the nervous twitch he'd get.

Flitting, flickering, fidgety fingers. A guitarist's fingers. Long, thin, nimble...perfect for picking the chords.

And, ideally, for lighting this stupid, frigging, damn, worthless Zippo light...

“Reed?”

“Shi...” he whirled around, felt his heart palpitate once, twice, thrice, and hastily changed his tune, “...Sheesh. Grandma. Hi.”

She smiled at him, “I hope I didn't startle you.”

Reed nodded, then realized how that looked, and shook his head, “Nah...me? I'm cool.”

She raised her eyebrows, “I am delighted to hear it.”

There was an awkward silence. Reed hastily attempted to hide his lighter, fumbling around behind his back, desperately searching for his pocket.

His grandma kept looking off the other way. Reed noticed her expression had gotten weirdly fixed. Had he made her uncomfortable? Shit, he didn't want to do  _that_ . Nikki was the about the only member of his family who he could have an honest conversation with.

Well, then there was  _Billy_ , but technically he didn't count and...

Well, yeah. That was just weird now. Reed had made it weird, but... Yeah, still weird.

She was still standing there, looking off in the distance. That big plot in the middle of the place, where they'd been working on that development thing. He was pretty sure she was where the money was coming from over there, but he didn't really keep up with all of that stuff.

Feeling he should say something, he attempted, “Do you...um...wanna sit down?”

“Oh?” she turned to him, hesitated, but nodded, “Thank you.”

And she sat on the bench beside him.

“It's...um...it's a nice day,” Reed tried.

Nikki nodded, “A beautiful day.”

Reed heard a distinct thud on the ground beneath him. Feeling his heart sink in his chest, he realized it was his lighter. Shit.

It didn't look like his grandma had noticed. Good. All he had to do was nudge it out of sight, paw it around a little with his foot...

“Are you alright?”

“What?” he looked up sharply, spoke way too fast. Nikki had turned to him, smiling one of those sad smiles of hers, that seemed to say so much, but not _tell_ anything.

_Aw, shit, she knows. She saw you screwing with the lighter, and now she's in_ Murder She Wrote _mode. It's just like when she caught you and Dee raiding the kitchen that time, she had you pegged in, like, five minutes. Shit, you are dead, man._ So _dead. Aw, crud..._

When she spoke, it was heavily, “I know things have been difficult for you. At home.”

“At home?” Reed bit his lip, not quite relieved, but not as tense as he'd been, “I guess Mom's told you...”

“Your mother tries her best,” she said, “You do understand that, don't you?”

Reed sighed, “Yeah. Yeah, Grandma, I do.”

“And I know...” there was an extended pause, as if she were turning something over in her head, “...I know you must miss having your father around.”

It was weird how quickly things came back. How he felt his shoulders go rigid, his feet to sort of grind into the pavers beneath them. Deer in headlights, he guessed...all but his fingers. Nope, twitchy, fidgety, flitting fingers...

Every bit of him frozen in place, except his fingers. And there wasn't a lot you could do with your fingers, just on their own. Guitar. He could do guitar. Play a few chords, make some noise...

Drown it out. Drown it all out...

* * *

 

He was...eleven? Twelve? Dee had died recently, so he must've been twelve. Lots of those first few months had passed in this fuzzy blur. Grief, he guessed.

He'd had trouble sleeping. Nightmares. Dark roads, shadowy figures moving through the darkness, the roars of monstrous, draconic engines... He'd been immobile, powerless, at the total mercy of his monstrous, mechanical pursuer...

Raised voices, jarring him awake. Shouting, arguing. They'd been arguing for a while, his Dad and Mac. Dylan didn't notice, he was too young to notice much.

It was particularly loud tonight.

“ _I work like a dog, Mac! Get stepped on every damn day, is it too much to want to come home and get a_ break _?_ ”

“ _You think I'm not busy too? I've got a_ life _, contrary to prevailing opinion, you can't expect me to be waiting with an apron and a fucking marti..._ ”

A thud, a soft, low, gasp. Reed could remember flinching in bed. Nothing more.

He didn't sleep again that night. And in the morning, when he saw his stepmother bent over the bathroom sink, hastily applying makeup to a spot on her face, he could do nothing but look away, suddenly sick.

And his father, sitting at the table, drinking his coffee, looking at his phone.

“Morning, kiddo,” he raised the mug in salute, showing Reed knuckles red and raw.

That was the first time he felt his fingers twitch.

* * *

 

Reed turned to his grandmother, “My Dad?”

Her smile faltered, as if she were worried she'd said the wrong thing, “Well, I know you were...put out that he left again so suddenly...”

He shook his head, “It's his birthday.”

Nikki raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Reed just nodded to confirm the fact, “May 3 rd .”

Nikki sighed, “Oh my God...”

She lowered her head, “I...I hadn't realized.”

Reed shrugged, “S'okay. I mean, I almost forgot too. Just....funny, I guess. This whole time, after I came back, it was...the greatest thing in the world. Being home again. With you, and grandpa, and Mom and...” he hesitated awkwardly, “Everybody.”

“...yes?”

“And then Dad comes back. And it was...you know, it was weird at first. I kept thinking...something was gonna happen. Something big, something bad, something that would shake everything up and screw up the family. Again.”

“Reed...” her voice was tiny, feeble. Reed considered stopping, but now that he'd started, it was impossible to consider that now...

“But instead...everything's okay. Like, _really_ okay. Normal. And...and suddenly all those stupid things I used to think about...about how Mom and Dad might just get together again someday, and we could be a family and...” he stopped, realizing he was breathing heavily, “It felt like it could happen. Like I wasn't just some stupid kid whining about stuff I couldn't change.”

* * *

 

Broken nose. Black eye. Scraped knee.

He forgot how the fight had started. Bunch of assholes picking on someone half their size, the way assholes do.

Reed should've minded his own business. There was a big game coming up. Reed could single handedly pitch this team to state for the first time since...ever. It was a big deal. A big responsibility,a big...

“ _Faggot!_ ”

Why did it bother him so much? He was  _13_ , that word was basically a comma for boys. Drop a pencil? Faggot. Bump into somebody? Faggot. Say hi to a random girl in the hallway? Faggot.

But that kid they were beating on...Reed  _knew_ him. He sat behind him in homeroom. Skinny guy, blue eyes, this shock of sandy blond hair. He played street hockey, which was pretty cool. Pair of rollerblades hanging from his bag.

Reed knew a lot about him, actually. Maybe he paid  _too_ much attention to him.

He knew he wasn't a faggot.

So he'd gotten involved, and he'd got his ass kicked. Sitting here in the back of the car, Reed found he couldn't really pay much attention to his nose, his eye, his knee...

Just his knuckles. Red and raw and sore.

“You okay, Reed?”

His Dad, eyeing him in the rearview mirror.

Reed didn't answer, so J.T continued, “You know, I got into a coupla scrapes myself when I was in school. Fact of life.”

“Scrapes?” he'd repeated hollowly.

“Yep. Billy and me...” but he often got sour when he talked about Billy. Reed knew _why_ , of course, but his mother wasn't a frequent topic of discussion in the house.

Well, it was sometimes. At night, when he was in bed and he could hear  _them_ going at it, flinging spit at each other...

Mac didn't always cry, not anymore. At first, Reed had thought that was a good thing. And then he'd hated himself so much for thinking that that he almost hit himself, just so he could give himself some big, ugly bruise that he could hide, or choose not to hide.

He wondered sometimes would would happen if Mac  _didn't_ hide the bruises, didn't pretend they'd never happened.

What would his Dad do? Would he be shamed into silence? Would he  _stop_ ? Apologize? Or would it just make him angrier?

It was so...so weird, so  _scary_ , even, to know your Dad, your father...and to realize that he was a completely different person when you weren't looking.

“Did you...did you _win_?” Reed found himself asking.

J.T chuckled, “What? The fights?”

Reed shrugged, and his father smiled faintly, “I held my own, just like you.”

Reed looked at his own knuckles, red, sore. A brand, proof of what he'd done...

But they'd deserved it. They were  _bullies_ , they were picking on him, calling him something he wasn't. Because of Reed. That's why there were rumors, because of Reed. It was his fault, if anything happened, his fault, he owed it to keep  _him_ safe, keep them from hurting him, make them pay for...

“I didn't _like_ doing it.”

There was a long silence. His father kept one eye on him the entire time. Finally, he said, “That's good. But you did what you had to do. That's what a man does, Reed. They can push him, pull him, pick at him, but...”

And Reed couldn't help but smile at him, finishing the old, tired phrase with him, “...but he gets up straight again.”

“Like a reed.”

“Like a reed.”

His fingers twitched, and this time he didn't mind the sting. And that scared him more than the pain did.

* * *

 

Reed sighed, feeling his eyes begin to sting, “I was stupid.”

“Oh, no, honey...” his grandmother reached out, put her hand over his, “It's...it's the most natural thing in the world to want your parents together.”

“I don't,” he said hollowly.

Nikki raised her eyebrows, “I'm...I'm sorry?”

“I don't want them together. Not anymore,” the words were slow at first, uneasy, but they came to him, fits and starts, “When I was younger, I thought...maybe that was the answer to it. Maybe Mac just...didn't make him happy. Maybe he missed Mom. Maybe it would be...would be better for everybody if they split up, if he and Mom got back together, maybe they'd be happy, maybe nobody would get hurt...”

“Hurt?”

Immediately Reed knew he shouldn't have said that. Fuck, what was he  _thinking_ ? This was his grandma, his Mom's Mom, he couldn't just be casually throwing stuff like that around in front of her, freaking her out...

But she didn't sound freaked out. There was an odd firmness in her voice, even a quiet anger. Reed hesitated.

“Grandma, I...”

She put her hand over his arm, “Reed...did your father...has he ever  _hurt_ you?”

The frankness of the question, and the way her eyes settled on him, as if she was hinging everything onto his answer.

“Never,” he said at last, “Not...not me, but...”

“Oh, Reed...” and she wrapped her arms around him, “Oh, Reed, I am...I am _so_ sorry...”

He didn't know quite what to do at first. His breath had been taken away, his nostrils clogged with Nikki's old lady perfume.

“You...you shouldn't be, I didn't...I didn't do anything...”

“Didn't _do_ anything?” Nikki looked at him, “What _ever_ do you mean?”

“I mean...” he shook his head, “Grandma, he and Mac...” he sighed brokenly, feeling the tears on his face, “I _knew_ what was going on. For years. I...I could hear it, I saw what he would do to her, how she hid it, I...I _knew_ everything...”

* * *

 

Four years. It had been going on four years before Dylan had a clue.

Reed hadn't been sleeping. Dreams again. The same nightmare, the same dark, lonely road, the monster in the dark, roaring for him, bearing down on him...

He'd been lying in bed, drumming his fingers on the sheets, fussing with them, just to remind himself he  _could_ move, he wasn't useless, he...

“Reed?”

Dylan was standing in the doorway, his shadow spread dramatically over Reed's bed. He could tell at once from his brother's voice something was wrong.

And, of course, if he paid attention, he could hear it, raised voices, arguing. Same script, different day. But now...

His brother was just standing there, tears in his eyes. Reed wondered if he could even bring himself to move.

“Hey, big guy,” Reed told him in his most big brotherly voice, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, going over to him, “Can't sleep?”

He shook his head, otherwise mute.

He should say something, reassure him,  _do_ something.

Dylan spoke before he could, “Are they...are they  _fighting_ ?”

And all Reed could do was tell him, “...yeah. Yeah, Dylan, they're fighting.”

It was the first time he'd said it aloud. His brother had burst into tears, fallen against him. And he'd held him close, feeling tears in his own eyes, listening to his father beat his stepmother, call her worthless, useless, stupid, a waste of space...

Reed let his brother cry into his shoulder, feeling tears welling up in his own eyes.

He decided then that he could stay there no longer. There had to be a better place for him than this.

* * *

 

“I _knew_ what he was doing to her,” Reed said at last, “And I did nothing. I...I ran away from it, I...I left her, and I left Dylan and...”

“You did nothing wrong,” she spoke with a surprising vehemence, “Reed, I know it doesn't seem like it now, but you did _nothing_ wrong. You were...you were trapped in some nightmare of a situation, of course you wanted to get out, just like your...”

She paused, for half a second, then hastily corrected herself, “Just like me.”

“Just like...what?”

She was quiet for a short time, and Reed saw her attention wander again, toward that spot in the center of the park. Eventually, she turned back to him.

“My father was a cruel man,” she said at last, “Hard and cold. The things he would say to my sister...to _me_...Well, I won't bother you with that,” she bit her lip, “And, when you're _growing up_ in a place like that, and when that's what you know...well, you don't question it. You go to church, you're told, 'Honor thy father and they mother'. Well, father knows best, after all. You don't think anything he's doing is...wrong, you think he must have some reason for it...”

Reed leaned back, “I...I didn't know...”

“Not many do. It was so long ago, and...and my actions then...” she shuddered abruptly, “...I was such a different person and yet, at the same time...”

She lowered her head, “All I ever wanted was to be a good mother. Protect my children.”

Reed wasn't entirely sure where this was going anymore. Still, something about seeing his grandmother so broken up like this got to him. He reached out, put his hand over hers.

“I want to protect Mom too. I...I felt so bad...letting myself think, when she and my Dad got back together that...that it would be different than back home, that _they'd_ be different... I got my hopes up, and...and there was no reason...”

“No!” Nikki told him, looking him right in the eyes, “You're a boy who wants his parents back together, it's the most _natural_ thing in the world...”

“Maybe,” Reed told her, “But that's done now.”

“Done?”

He nodded, “I'm glad he's gone.”

Nikki leaned back, her face quite pale,”G-glad?”

“He can't hurt Mom again. And I know he's not going back to Mac, or...or Dylan. He can't hurt them. I mean...I _will_ miss him.”

His fingers twitched, and he desperately tried to ignore it, “I just wish he'd stuck around long enough for me to tell him that I knew. That I've known since the beginning, that I've lost sleep, that I've...I've scared the shit out of myself looking in the mirror and...and wondering if maybe, if maybe  _I_ might end up like him, angry and screaming and controlling...”

“You could never,” she said heavily, “You could _never_ be any of those things, Reed. You're kind, and gentle and...”

“I've thought about it,” Reed told her, “More and more since I came to town, since...since he and Mom started fighting. That...that if he ever laid a hand on her, did anything like he did with Mac...I wouldn't take it, not this time, I'd...”

His hand shook against his leg. Nikki reached out, grabbed it and, in the firmest voice she'd used since she sat down here, told him, “You won't need to worry about that. Reed, I promise you.”

And Reed got the sense she wasn't just saying that, she really and truly meant it.

“I wish I'd done more,” he said at last.

“You're in good company, then. But know that you've done more than anyone in your position should ever have to.”

She looked around the park, the high afternoon sun. heaving a sigh, she got to her feet, “What do you say, we grab some lunch? I'll treat you.”

“Oh, grandma, you don't have to...”

“It's for me as much as it is for you.”

And, he realized with an uncommon warmth, she didn't want to be alone. And he could never refuse her.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Sure, let's...”

“Oh,” she was bending down, reaching under the bench.

_Aw, shit._

“Is this yours?” she straightened up, holding Reed's lighter.

His first thought was to lie, make up some bullshit about how it must belong to some homeless dude or something, but after everything he and his grandmother had just told each other, that seemed really cheap.

“Er...yeah. Yeah, it's mine.”

“You smoke?”

“Um...sometimes?"

* * *

 

“I'm doing it. I'm going home”

“But...you _are_ home.”

“Home, man! My _real_ home. Genoa City.”

“...Wisconsin? Couldn't you just, I dunno, die?”

Reed rolled his eyes at his friend, “You don't get it. There's something about that place, I...I can't stay here.”

“Well, I get wanting to leave _here_...” he leaned back against the railing, idly spinning one of the wheels of his roller blades, “Here _sucks._ ”

He stopped, somewhat abruptly, as if he wanted to say more to that. Reed found himself feeling bad.

“I'm sorry, man.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Well...for leaving, I guess, I dunno.”

He frowned, “Why? Think I'll be up all night crying without you?”

“Hey, fuck you,”

He laughed, “Nah. Nah...I'll miss you, Hellstrom. But you do you. Go on your...spirit quest, or whatever.”

“It's _not_ a spirit quest, I just...” he shrugged.

“Dude, if you say you wanna find yourself, I will hit you.”

Reed smiled sheepishly, “What'd you do if I said I missed my Mom?”

“Really?” he propped his head up in his hand, “That is _so_ cute.”

“Okay, okay...”

“You never talk about your Mom. She's, like, that makeup lady, right?”

“ _Cosmetics_.”

He stuck his tongue out at him, “Queer.”

Reed stuck his tongue out right back, “Listen...can you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Could you...I dunno...check on Dylan for me, when I'm gone?”

There was a silence, “Dude, I'm offended.”

“What?”

“That you even had to ask,” he was quiet for a moment, then went digging around in the pocket of his flannel, “Want you to have something...”

“Aw, c'mon man, you don't have to give me...”

“I _want_ you to have it. It's a goodbye gift.”

And he tossed the old Zippo lighter into Reed's hand.

“I don't smoke!”

“Yeah, well, you should. Takes the edge off.”

“Edge? I don't have an _edge_...”

“Really, Reed? You, my man, are the edgiest guy I know. Keep it, it'll help.”

* * *

 

“It...it takes the edge off,” he finished a little lamely.

“I see...” Nikki trailed off.

“Look, I...I know I shouldn't...”

“Ha!” she laughed bitterly, looking around the park, “Do you know, Katherine Chancellor used to smoke a pack a day?”

“Um...you mean Mrs. C, Katherine Chancellor...”

“The very one, God rest her. After she passed, we must've found a hundred cigarette stubs just scattered around the estate. She hid ashtrays everywhere. The things Jill and I had to do to convince Esther to throw them out...”

She sighed, looking around the park, her eyes settling on the construction plot, “She was a complicated woman.”

Reed nodded awkwardly, “So...um...I'm sorry, this is usually where I get a moral about how bad whatever I'm doing is.”

Nikki eyed him, a sly smile on her face as she tossed the lighter back to him, “Don't do it at home.”

“Oh, yeah, I would never...”

“Don't tell your mother, she's got enough grief.”

“Lips are _totally_ sealed. Are you sure about...”

“ _Never_ tell your grandfather.”

“One step ahead of you.”

“You are a very good boy.”

“I'm a...what?”

“Come on,” she linked her arm through his, “Let's get some lunch.”

Reed wasn't about to argue with her, and he let her lead him on through the park. His eyes also made their way to the construction plot as they passed it.

Pretty ordinary pile of dirt. He supposed eventually there'd be flowers or something. Whatever.

Still...

His fingers twitched. He pocketed the lighter.


End file.
